All across this country stand old community halls,

built as social beacons, within corrugated walls.

The locals came together, to celebrate and share.

They’d rally round when times were hard, to show how much they care.

Better than the weddings, the parties and the rest,

Of all events held at the hall, The Christmas Tree was best.

The ladies brought their dishes, which made a lovely spread.

The men, they hung around the bar and waited to be fed.

The Christmas tree took pride of place, rising up toward the roof.

Santa would be coming soon. Presents under it, were proof.

Around the tree, the kids all sat and waited for Saint Nick.

No snow, no sleigh to get him there, a Ute would do the trick.

The memories of that time and place are etched into my mind

and bring a sense of fondness that now is hard to find.

On a farm, many years ago,

farmers came together to put on a show.

They cut down a tree and piled up the wood,

then set it alight where the old tree stood.

Families came to watch and to see

just how spectacular the fireworks would be.

It was tradition for the host to light each fuse.

Pin wheels and sparklers never failed to amuse.

But the rockets, no doubt, were the best of them all,

they lit up the sky and coloured embers would fall.

Little ones carefully covered their ears,

then showed their awe with boisterous cheers.

There’s no doubt in my mind, cracker nights were fun

But the sense of community… rated number one.

In many Aussie hamlets, stood a local tennis club.

Built by community members as a central social hub.

Gum Flat, Bukkulla, and Gilgai, too.

Nullamanna and Swanbrook, just to name a few.

They’d have a ‘hit and giggle’, my father used to say.

But things got more serious on competition day.

Teams from all the different clubs would meet up to compete.

Champions were decided when the round-robin was complete.

In the bush nearby, the kids would play,

amusing one another, throughout the day.

At the end of the comp, it was time for tea.

The clubhouse became the place to be.

There were plates of food, for all to share.

A quintessential display of true Aussie fare.

When the pack-up was done and the gear locked away,

They all said goodbye and called it a day.

Farmers were known to congregate in the bar of the local pub.

The men that met, they formed a part of a distinctly Aussie club.

The pub, the place they’d blow off steam, when the farming week was done.

They’d spin a yarn, share a drink, relax and have some fun.

The farmers’ wives and children would have a catch up, too.

In the garden, out the back, they’d have a drink or two.

The men would come and join them, while all the kids would play.

A pleasant family gathering, to finish off the day.

Then through the bush, on dusty roads, they’d drive home to their farms.

The life they shared, the farming life, certainly had its charms.

In the country town where I grew up, there were many corner stores.

I’d visit with my pocket money, when I’d finished all my chores.

They stood amongst the houses, with a residence behind.

The footpath out the front, under an awning of some kind.

The awning often carried ads, for products they would sell.

Arnott’s Biscuits, Billy Tea, and Street’s Ice Cream as well.

Many had bay windows, either side of the door,

That revealed different products, you could purchase in the store.

A bell above the door would ring, as in the store you went.

An alert to the owner, was very clearly sent.

The space within the shop itself, was simple and quite small,

The groceries that the owner sold, displayed up on the wall.

Or stacked up on the counters or stood upon the floor.

The counters wrapped around the space, as you entered through the door.

The lolly counter drew kids in, with its scrumptious display.

Promising a five-cent bag, would last throughout the day.

Visits to the corner store, for all the kids like me,

Created lasting memories, I’m sure we’d all agree.